


You Make Me Feel (Like I Am Home Again)

by annalore



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Friends With Benefits To Lovers, M/M, Post-Fallout, nobody has sex in this, not even a little, okay maybe it's a love story, polyamory (suggested), sequel to a longer story that doesn't exist, this is not a love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annalore/pseuds/annalore
Summary: Back at home after the events of Fallout, Benji and Ethan reconnect.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s just a house.  Benji tells himself that as he stands on the front porch staring at the front door and juggling the keys in his hand.  It’s in a quiet neighborhood not far from the city center, a long, low ranch with a shaded front porch, no different from any other house on the street.  A little worn, a little lived in, but neatly kept all the same.

Just a house, but still he delays.  He looks down at the keys in his hand, still shiny and sharp with newly cut edges.  It’s been a few months now and a part of him still can’t believe it. Neither that Ethan bought the house to begin with, nor that he’d given him a key --  _ pressed it into his hand earnestly over dinner, something shy, something hesitant hesitant in his eyes _ \-- and an invitation to drop in whenever he wanted, whether he was around or not.

He runs his thumb over the keychain, a metal relief of the Vienna Opera house --  _ Ethan’s smile when he noticed it, the heat in his eyes.  Ethan leaning over the dinner table, kissing him. Pulling him into the bedroom like he just couldn’t wait. _  He sighs sharply.  He hasn’t managed to make himself take advantage of that invitation.  Not before, and certainly not now.

He hasn’t been here since just before he left for Berlin -- a quick stop to pack a bag for Ethan on the way to the meet -- for all that they’ve been back from Kashmir for well over a week.  They all needed some space after everything that happened, he’s been supposing, or had been until the text from Ethan that afternoon, asking where he was and why he hadn’t stopped by yet, he couldn’t possibly be that busy.  And he’s not, and he does miss Ethan, so here he is. Standing outside Ethan’s house.

“Benji.”  He jumps guiltily as a speaker crackles to life somewhere in the entryway above him and he hears Ethan’s voice.  “I can feel you lurking out there.”

Probably rigged for video as well as audio, he figures as his instincts kick in and his brain starts assessing.

“You can not,” he answers indignantly, despite not being sure if the speaker is two way.  Knowing Ethan, it is, but Ethan can read lips anyway. He’s still looking around for cameras and speakers when the door opens.

“I gave you keys for a reason,” Ethan says by way of greeting, his voice raspy and soft.

He opens his mouth to deny it again, useless since apparently Ethan has been watching him, and that’s certainly an amenity he didn’t show off on the tour, but then he really takes in the sight of the man in front of him.  Ethan is leaning slightly against the open door, shadowed by the dim interior of the house. He’s dressed for lounging in sweatpants and a loose tee, both soft grays, barefoot. His hair is a little longer than it has been, a little unruly, and his eyes are soft, tender.  He’s smiling that smile that always makes Benji ache a little on the inside.

“Yeah, well,” he answers helplessly.  “That’s all well and good until you accidentally shoot me for breaking and entering.”

Ethan laughs, a low, rich chuckle.  “You’d have to enter for that.  _ Are  _ you coming in?  I don’t have a gun on me, promise.”

He steps back from the door and Benji notices that he’d been using it to help support himself.  That he looks a bit unsteady, haggard. For a man dressed to relax, he doesn’t look a bit like he’s been relaxing.  He holds back on a joke about Ethan being just as lethal unarmed, just steps inside after him and shuts and locks the door after himself.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he says reprovingly, although he doesn’t know that for certain.  He moves closer instinctively, lays a hand on Ethan’s back, the barest of touches. Ethan makes a soft mewing sound anyway, sucks in a breath and then starts coughing.

Benji pulls back his hand like he’s been burned and flutters around uselessly while Ethan tries to catch his breath.  He opens his mouth to apologize before thinking better of it, because this isn’t about him, after all, it’s about Ethan.

“... water?” he asks desperately, as if it were only the latest part of a conversation they’ve been having, as if he’s said all the words of that sentence and not just the one.  He looks in the direction of the kitchen, reaches out for Ethan, then thinks better of that too and drops his hand.

Ethan waves him off like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.  He takes another moment, then straightens up, seeming better. “You’re right, let me get you something to drink.”

He starts for the kitchen slowly, with a limp that Benji isn’t expecting.  He goes after Ethan, coming back to himself enough to call, as he follows, “That’s actually not what I meant.  You can’t tell me you shouldn’t be resting right now.”

When he gets to the kitchen, Ethan is in the process of opening a beer.  He opens his mouth to protest that Ethan almost certainly should be on painkillers and therefore should certainly not be drinking, when Ethan slides the beer across the counter to him and grabs a bottle of water for himself.

“Relax, Benji,” he says with a smile that reaches his eyes.  “I know how working in the office stresses you out.”

He wraps his hand around the bottle, which is blessedly cool, then takes a look at the label.  He has to hand it to Ethan, he does know him well. It’s his favorite, the brand he never admits to liking but somehow always ends up drinking at the end of a long day anyway.  Ethan is watching him expectantly, that bemused, slightly impish smile still on his lips.

“Alright.  If--”

Ethan cuts him off.  “If I promise to rest, I know.”

He takes that as an agreement, even though Ethan hasn’t actually agreed.  It’s not that he doesn’t notice, just that he knows he can bully Ethan into it later if he needs to.  Probably, anyway. Once indulged, he’s always more amenable.

“You know,” Ethan says as he takes his first sip and is just starting to relax into it.  “When I got home, a few of my drawers were hanging open. Almost like someone ransacked the place while I was gone.”

Ethan pulls off deadpan so well, Benji almost chokes on his beer.  “Well, excuse me for trying to help out a friend, Mr. I-didn’t-pack-my-best-arms-deal-suit-in-my-go-bag.  Not to mention the favorite jacket, honestly.”

Ethan laughs, free and delighted, like that was exactly the response he wanted to get, and Benji’s heart soars for just a moment.  Another point to Ethan for knowing him well, he supposes. But then Ethan groans and coughs again, splays his hand across his ribs.

The light feeling is gone in an instant.  “Ethan--”

“No, it’s fine.”  Ethan waves him away again.  “They’re just fractured.”

Benji sets the beer down on the counter.  “I’m going to be honest, that doesn’t sound fine.”

“Yeah, it’s painful.  Hard to breathe, sometimes, and physical therapy’s kicking my ass.  But it’s fine.” He opens his mouth to protest, because really, it still doesn’t sound fine, when Ethan continues.  “If it makes you feel better, we can go lie down right now.”

Benji’s brain, or maybe his heart, does something really complicated that he can’t quite process and he frowns.  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”  Ethna frowns back at him, like he’s trying to figure something out.  For a spy, he has a very expressive face, at least as far as Benji is concerned, and he can almost see the gears trying to click their way into place.

Benji just shrugs.  He knows Ethan can’t actually read minds, that it’s all research and surveillance and intuition, and there’s no way any of those things could apply to this situation.  “I thought, because of Ilsa…”

Ethan sighs softly, then rounds the island.  He takes both of Benji’s hands in his, and Benji feels somehow smaller because of it.  “Come to bed with me, Benji,” he murmurs.

“God, don’t do that, Ethan,” he responds plaintively.  “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“You, with your bedroom eyes--”

“It seems fitting, when I want you in my bedroom--”

“And you being injured and fuck it all, I really do hate working in the office, why do I even do it, I’d so like to fuck you right now…”

Ethan doesn’t even try to interrupt him, just lets him run out of steam and trail off before he sways in closer, leans in to Benji and kisses his jaw, then the spot just below his ear.  “Rain check?” he offers, his voice deep and rich, so close that Benji can feel it as well as hear it. He wants Ethan in a way that is so visceral it steals his breath away.

He lets out an unsteady breath and forces himself to nod, despite being convinced that this will actually be the last time, that what he wants from Ethan won’t be on offer at a later date.  That the last time is actually already over, weeks past when neither of them knew that it would be. He takes a moment to realize that he can’t stand the thought, that every part wants to rail against it, fight for Ethan.  But that’s not his place, not anymore.

Ethan nips at his ear playfully, then kisses him again, just long enough to cross from playful into teasing.  Benji holds Ethan close when he expects him to pull away, but Ethan just stays pressed against him like he intended to the whole time.  He picks the beer up off the granite countertop and hands it back to Benji. Benji sighs and finishes it slowly, Ethan’s body a warm weight against his, his fingers tangled in the hair at nape of Ethan’s neck.

Neither one of them says much of anything else until they’re settled in the bedroom, Ethan resting against an impressive pile of pillows.  He indulges Benji a little, lets him fuss over the blankets, bring in water from the kitchen. He takes the Advil he’s handed without complaint -- grumbling that it’s more than good enough and no, he does not need narcotics, the pain isn’t anything he can’t handle -- before telling Benji to get changed and come to bed already.

Benji finds a pair of pajamas he thought he lost a year and two or three of Ethan’s anonymous apartments ago nestled in a drawer of Ethan’s things and changes into them, then gets himself situated too, lying flat next to Ethan, curled into his side, almost, but not quite touching.  Ethan runs a hand through his hair, then lets it rest on his shoulder. Benji reaches out and slowly, cautious of other injuries he doesn’t know the extent of, lays a hand on Ethan thigh, leaving it there when Ethan doesn’t protest.

“So,” he starts finally.  “How’s your day been?”

Ethan’s hand twitches and Benji thinks he might be trying not to laugh.  “What do you want me to say? Terrible until you got here?”

He does not, in fact, and he’s sure they both know it.  He’s less sure about the implication that it’s not a question worth asking, not one with a real answer.  “I don’t know, do anything interesting?”

“Hm, let me see…”  He gets the impression that Ethan’s trying to pick out the most boring and innocuous part of his day, and it’s confirmed when he starts talking.  “Physical therapy. They have me doing these pool exercises…”

Benji relaxes as Ethan starts to describe them, listening more to the sound of his voice than the words themselves.  It’s soft and enveloping, and Ethan’s hand is a warm weight on his shoulder. Everything about this moment is steady, constant.  It’s the most he’s had of that in a while. Ethan’s voice gets fuzzier as he moves off of water aerobics and starts on a story about shopping for groceries at Whole Foods.  He drifts.

“And then I had a handsome man fall asleep on me,” Ethan’s voice cuts in, louder and more precise than before.

“What?”  He’s struggling to pull himself up before he’s even fully processed what Ethan said.  “I am not  _ on  _ you.  And I’m not… I’m not…”

He’s stopped by the gentle pressure of Ethan’s hand on his shoulder, and he settles back down.  Decides to, he tells himself. It’s too much energy anyway.

“You were definitely asleep, Benji.  What have you been doing?”

“Oh, like you don’t know,” he scoffs.

“I know.  I spent most of the afternoon reading briefs.”  There’s something weary in Ethan’s voice as he says it.  “You’ve been doing good work. I know it’s not what you prefer…”

“Yeah, well.  Sometimes you’ve gotta take one… or two or three… for the team.”

“Yeah, sometimes.”  He sounds quiet, contemplative.  “Why didn’t you come visit, Benji?  Why did I practically have to summon you?”

He shrugs, glad Ethan can’t see his face.  He’s not really sure himself, come right down to it.  “That’s not really what we do, is it?”

“Because… why?  Because of Ilsa?”

He can feel tension in Ethan’s body, knows he’s being watched closely for his reaction.  No matter how many times he sees Ethan’s human lie detector act, it never ceases to impress.  And he’s never been able to beat it, so he usually doesn’t even try.

“No, Ethan.  Because you’re… you’re point.  I just…”

“That’s not how it has to be.”  Ethan pauses, corrects. “That’s not how I want it to be.”

He tries to sit up again, and this time Ethan doesn’t try to stop him.  He looks at Ethan, opens his mouth to speak, but then closes it when he realizes he doesn’t know what he’s going to say.  Ethan reaches out and takes his hand, squeezes it gently, a soft look in his eyes that makes Benji feel slightly ill.

“I don’t actually know how to be any other way,” he says finally, helplessly.

Ethan shakes his head slightly.  “I think you do.”

Benji doesn’t bother to respond.  They sit there, at an impasse, for a long moment until Ethan tugs on his hand.  “Come on, come closer. I won’t break.”

He’s not so sure that’s true, but Ethan seems a lot better than when he first opened the door, like the rest has done him a world of good, so Benji lets himself be guided in, settles on the pillows against Ethan’s side, Ethan’s arm around him, fingers curled around his hip.  He rests his head on Ethan’s chest.

“This doesn’t hurt?” he asks softly, just to be sure.

“It doesn’t hurt, Benji,” Ethan insists, a certain finality to his tone.

Whether he believes it fully or not, Benji accepts it.  It’s been far too long since he’s had this, since he’s been able to just relax with Ethan.  Since before Kashmir, before Berlin. Weeks before that, when Ethan went deep cover again, and he had to settle for hearing from him via the occasional dead drop or secure phone call in the middle of the night, even that strictly speaking unnecessary and in stolen moments.

The quiet that settles between them is just as comfortable, just as calming as listening to Ethan talk had been earlier. Benji considers, for just a moment, telling Ethan when he needs this instead of waiting for it to happen.  Being in this relationship. He pushes the thought away when it begins to feel too real.

“Have you eaten?” Ethan asks after a while, when he’s started to drift again.

“Not really.  Why, are you offering to feed me?”

“Mm.  I was planning on it.”  Ethan dances his fingers over a patch of exposed skin at Benji’s waist where his shirt has ridden up.  It’s a sensation that just escapes tickling. “If you hadn’t talked me into the bedroom, I’d be barefoot in the kitchen right now, making your dinner.”

He groans into Ethan’s shoulder.  “Give a fellow some warning before throwing an image like that out there, would you?”

“Hey, I’m not completely incapacitated.  I’m sure I could still get the job done if you’d let me.”

He lets himself consider it briefly, especially if Ethan’s just going to keep teasing him all night, then shakes himself out of it.  “No. There is no way in hell that is happening. Should you even be cooking?”

Ethan laughs, his arm tightening around Benji’s waist, fingers pressing into his skin.  “It’s not a full contact sport, Benj. I think I can manage.”

“I could do it, though.  I should be taking care of you.  You’re the one who was in a helicopter crash.”

“I’m the one that crashed a helicopter.  That’s what you’re really trying to say, isn’t it?”

“To be fair, it was on purpose.  If your own account is to be believed, anyway.”

“God’s honest truth.”  Ethan pauses and his voice dips lower, more serious.  “I know you didn’t walk away unscathed either.”

Benji is quick to shake his head.  “What? No, it was nothing, I’m fine.”

Ethan shifts under him and Benji lifts his head.  Ethan raises his other arm off the bed -- the one on the bad side, and it takes a noticeable amount of effort -- and reaches out.  Benji knows what Ethan’s going to do before he does it, but he doesn’t try to stop him. He just closes his eyes and waits. Ethan’s touch is feather light, just skimming the thick ring of bruising that he’s been hiding under high necklines all week.  He swallows reflexively. It still hurts.

“The last time I saw you, you couldn’t even eat solid food.”

He squeezes his eyes closed tighter and clenches his jaw.  There are so many things he could say -- about how Ethan looked last time he saw him, or how blowjobs are still completely out of the question and will be for a while -- but he feels a tightness in his throat that has nothing to do with having been hanged and when he blinks his eyes open, they’re wet.

“I can do now,” he whispers.  “Although I’d still be more liable to trust you with a blender than a knife.”

Ethan brushes his knuckles over Benji’s cheek, and it’s so careful, so gentle, that he blinks again.  There must be tears, because Ethan brushes them away, guides Benji in with a hand on the back of his neck and kisses him softly.  “I want to take care of you,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t think you need it.”

There was a time when he would have protested, and a large part of him still wants to now.  But this is Ethan, who knows everything he’s been through. Who’s always been there for him in the past.  And he does need it, on some level he knows that. He nods dumbly.

“And that’s not going to change.”

“Because of Ilsa,” he murmurs.  Because she’s on his mind. Because she has been, ever since he got home and had a moment to think about things.  Because what he wants from Ethan, needs from Ethan, belongs to someone else.

“Because of anything,” Ethan corrects.

“Because you love me,” he suggests.  They’ve exchanged the words before. Ethan isn’t insecure about admitting he loves a friend, and their friendship has been deeper than most, the past couple years.

“Because  _ you _ love  _ me _ .”

The words are the same.  The emphasis -- slightly different.  The meaning… a world of difference. And with a dawning clarity, he knows it’s true.  The way he feels around Ethan, the things he feels for Ethan -- they’re not friendship, not even close.

“Ethan…” he whispers thickly.  He’s not sure what he wants to say.  No matter what Ethan has said about wanting to take care of him, about nothing changing… how could it not?  He wants to deny it, or say it doesn’t mean anything, or maybe act like it never happened at all. The instinct to apologize is there, above it all, because this was never part of their deal.

“Shh…  I feel the same.”

Suddenly, the cacophony in his brain is gone, leaving only the woosh of white noise.  He pulls back to look at Ethan unbelievingly. Because if him falling in love with Ethan wasn’t part of their deal, Ethan falling for him… it’s so far from being part of the deal he never even considered it.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it.  Ethan was never on the table, ever.

Except that Ethan is looking back at him steadily, something fond and something a little challenging in his expression.  And something else, something that Benji has a hard time contextualizing, because while he’s seen it before, he’s never seen it directed at him.

“Dinner?” he blurts out wildly.  “You were saying something about… a stir fry?”

At least, that’s what he thinks he remembers hearing while he was half asleep and Ethan was going on about the finer points of purchasing free range chicken and organic vegetables, probably for the sole purpose of lulling him to sleep to begin with.

“Yeah,” Ethan agrees smoothly.  “I have everything chopped already, it should only take a few minutes.  No knives necessary.”

“Not anymore, you mean.  The things you do when there’s nobody around to supervise you.”

“Well, if you’d come over…”  Ethan trails off, lets it hang there between them for a moment, then grimaces.  “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.  I just… need a moment?”

“Or two or three?”  He breathes a sigh of relief at the wryness in Ethan’s tone.  “They’re yours. I know I sprung this on you.”

But that’s not fair, not really.  He’s the one who should have known.  If not about Ethan, then about himself.  That he was long past whatever friends with benefits arrangement they’d had going on to begin with, long past the comfort of not having any feelings involved.

“Come on, let’s get you fed,” Ethan’s voice cuts in.

Suddenly, Benji is all too aware of their closeness, of Ethan’s arm around his waist, his fingers brushing bare skin.  In a daze, he pulls away and smooths down his pajamas, self conscious as Ethan watches. Ethan raises an eyebrow at him questioningly, and he follows the direction of Ethans eyes down to where he has his hand pressed to his side where the point of contact was.  He shakes his hand slightly, and Ethan smiles. He forces himself to break eye contact. He moves his hand away.

They make their way to the kitchen slowly.  Benji hovers anxiously as Ethan extracts himself from the bed, not without a fair amount of wincing and a couple coughs.  He wants to help, and feels awkward for not really being able to. He’s not sure what he could do that wouldn’t hurt Ethan more.  The bedroom’s not large, and they’re conscious of each other’s personal space in a way that they haven’t been for a long time.

Ethan rummages through a drawer before they go, hand planted on the top of the dresser, muscles straining as he uses his arm to support himself while he leans over.  He comes up with a flannel robe, Benji’s once upon a time, and hands it to him wordlessly. It’s not cold, outside or in the house, but he puts it on anyway. Ethan brushes past him in the hall, still favoring his right leg.  He forces himself not to say anything, because he doesn’t want to be a mother hen, not right now.

He perches on his usual stool at the counter as Ethan starts to get dinner ready, watches him take bowl after bowl of prepared ingredients out of the fridge.  The kitchen is by far the most extravagant part of the house, the most Ethan despite the reno having been done by the previous owner. It’s modest sized, but full of light in the daytime, cabinets and countertops new, the appliances high end.  Enough to set the house apart from its neighbors, maybe, but everyone is into kitchens these days.

The burner grates flip upside down so the wok can sit closer to the flame.  Necessary for stir fry, Ethan always insists, as he leans close and tells stories of the old days, travelling through Asia.  Stories that make him wish he’d been there, or maybe just that he and Ethan could be there together. He’s watching the flames lick up the sides of the pan, mesmerized, when Ethan comes over, presses another beer into his hand, already opened.

This, he thinks.  This is where he would wrap his arm around Ethan’s waist and lean in for a kiss.  Warm and open mouthed and full of promise for later. He turns to look at Ethan, who’s hesitated at his side, seemingly thinking the same thing.  He wraps his hand around the bottle while Ethan’s is still around the neck. Just as he’s moving in, Ethan moves away.

He would think it’s unintentional, except for the fact that everything that Ethan does is intentional.  He’s controlled and exacting in a way that he has absolutely no right to be, even in quiet moments. Even when they’re in bed together.

Again, not fair.  He knows Ethan. He knows the difference between when he’s managing his reactions and when they’re genuine.  He knows that Ethan doesn’t lie to him. Or, he trusts, maybe. He believes. He believes in Ethan, unfailingly.

True to Ethan’s word, dinner cooks quickly and, as always, smells amazing.  Benji’s stomach growls, and he thinks back ruefully to the vending machine sandwich that he’d eaten some time in the middle of the day.

“Not really?” Ethan asks pointedly from his position by the stove as he plates the food.

Benji takes a swig of his beer, hoping it will cover his blush.  He’s not sure why he’s worried; Ethan’s not even looking. “Busy day,” he mumbles.  “You know I prefer it when you cook for me, anyway.”

Ethan hums in acknowledgement as he does something fussy with the vegetables that seems completely unnecessary.  “That’s no reason not to eat lunch, either.” He brings the bowls over, one by one, then sits crosswise from Benji on the other stool.

“That’s not-- I actually did-- Jesus, that looks amazing, Ethan.”

“Eat.  Okay?”

Ethan presses chopsticks into his hand, skin brushing against skin.  The touch lingers a moment longer than it has to, and Benji takes note of the glow of pride emanating from Ethan.  Accomplishment. He eats. They both do, and things are quiet for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

Benji stops eating first.  Despite still being hungry and the food being excellent, his throat does still hurt when he eats, so he takes a moment, watches Ethan, who gives every appearance of not noticing.  He tries to sift through his thoughts, his memories, to pinpoint when things changed. When they changed for him, when they changed for Ethan.

“How long?” he asks, finally.

Ethan looks up at him like he was expecting it.  He sets his bowl and chopsticks down. He pauses like he’s considering his answer carefully.  “A lot of things became more clear to me when I finally let go of Julia.”

Benji breathes out.  It’s not an answer. He can tell right away that it’s not an answer, despite the gravity, the weight of the statement.  And while he isn’t sure if he’d been asking about himself or about Ethan to begin with, he settles on Ethan. “But… you’ve actually felt this way for a while, then?”

Ethan shrugs.  Benji replays their past conversations on this topic in his head, because it’s not like it’s never come up before, and he comes to the realization that while he’d told Ethan that he wasn’t in love with him, Ethan had never said the same.  Ethan had talked around it so efficiently that he’d never noticed a thing. “I knew you didn’t feel the same. And I was… unavailable.”

Benji tries to process.  In a way, he’s grateful, because he feels like if he knew, if he’d known a year, eighteen months ago, that Ethan felt that way then they never would have had this time together.  And he never would have fallen in love. But then, all that time, Ethan had been in this alone. Had chosen to be, even knowing that. Knowing that it might never change.

“Jesus.  Why do you have to be such a self sacrificing bastard, Ethan?”

Ethan just shrugs again.  And-- Benji knows. Because of Ilsa.  Because of what he’d be prepared to give up for Ethan’s happiness.

“Right, but that changed.  I changed. And you knew. That I…”

Ethan nods.

“When?”

Ethan sighs and shifts like he’s preparing for a long explanation, but what he offers is a question.  “You remember Vienna?”

“Which time?” he asks dumbly.

Ethan just gives him a look, and, yeah, he supposes he deserves that.  Because there’s the time when a foreign head of state died and everything went to shit and then there’s the other time.  The time he thinks about every time he sees that keychain that Ethan gave him, the one attached to the keys to Ethan’s house.

“Yeah, I remember.  But that was just… an apology?”  Thinking back, it’s getting harder and harder to justify it as that in his mind.

“I  _ was _ sorry.  I wanted…”  Ethan pauses, like he’s struggling for the right words.  “I wanted you to have something nice.” There’s something he’s not used to in Ethan’s voice.  Something, he suspects, Ethan is only now letting him hear.

“It was nice.  The nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.  Aside from the part where I thought we were on a mission and I was waiting for our lives to be in danger the entire time.”

Ethan laughs softly, because of course it’s funny now.  “I told you it wasn’t.”

“I didn’t really believe you, you know.”

“I know.  But I thought you’d be more suspicious if I kept insisting.”  Ethan picks up his chopsticks, prods at his bowl absently, as if that would distract Benji from the suspicion that that’s not the only reason he didn’t keep insisting.

“Probably right,” he agrees anyway, because it’s mostly the truth.  “But, wait a second, if that wasn’t a mission, who actually paid for that?”

He’s not sure why that’s the first thing he thinks of, but when he remembers that trip -- the flight, the hotel, the opera, the restaurant where they’d eaten a five course meal over candlelight,  _ Ethan watching across the table, his expression unreadable _ , every detail perfect -- he’s not sure he’s ever spent that much of his own money on anything, let alone had that much money spent on him.

He gets another look from Ethan for that.  “That’s one hell of a fucking apology, Ethan.”

“You know it was more than that.”

It’s his turn to give Ethan a look when it seems like that’s all he’s going to say.  Ethan prods at his bowl some more, picks out a piece of chicken and stares at it for a long moment before popping it into his mouth.  He lets the chopsticks clatter down onto the counter as he chews, takes another moment to answer.

“I wanted… the usual things, I guess.”  He looks up at Benji. “Fun, adventure. Romance.  A chance for you to see the world from the front row, not a closet.”

The reply  _ oh, that’s the usual, is it? _ gets stuck in his throat.  He can’t be glib when Ethan is looking at him like that.  When Ethan is saying things like that to him. And-- romance.  He’s never really thought he wanted that, wanted grand gestures.  But he remembers being swept away. Holding Ethan’s hand to the soaring music of  _ La Traviata _ without even realizing he was doing it.  Kissing Ethan on a street corner instead of waiting until they were alone in their hotel room because he was still overwhelmed, because he needed an outlet for everything welling up inside of him.  Ethan kissing him back, arms wrapped around his waist protectively. The street, the cars, the people around them disappearing into the background.

He can recognize it now, now that he knows.  The feeling of perfection in that moment, of wanting to lose himself completely in Ethan.  The feeling of falling. But, he wonders… was he that easy to read? Was it that obvious?

They hadn’t done anything too different, that night, but when he thinks back to it he feels a blush creeping up his neck.  He looks at Ethan, who, more than usual, looks like he knows exactly what Benji is thinking. But unlike usual, he doesn’t look like he thinks there’s anything amusing about it.  He reaches over and takes Ethan’s hand in his and he thinks  _ Ethan watching from across the table  _ and  _ Ethan under him, his breath hitching  _ and also _ Ethan curled around him, his body warm and heavy with sleep _ .

“But how did you know?” he insists.

Ethan tries to pull his hand away, tries to make it seem like nothing, like he’s just shifting in his seat, but Benji holds on.  Ethan looks down at the counter instead, away from their hands, like he’s ashamed of what he’s about to say. “They train you… when you’re developing an asset, you’re trained to recognize that moment, when you have them on the hook and they’d give you anything.  That night in Vienna, Benji. You would have given me anything I asked for.”

“Why didn’t I get that training?”  Of all the thoughts floating through his head, that’s the one that escapes via his mouth.  Of course he knows the answer, in broad strokes at least. Even in the time he’s been there the IMF has changed a lot, and the organization he joined as a tech was already significantly different to the one Ethan came up in.  Ethan is basically the only deep cover agent the IMF has left.

“Shit, Ethan.  That’s not what I meant to… that is obviously not what I meant to say.”

When he looks up in a half panic, Ethan is looking back at him, the beginnings of a smile curling at his lips.  “I can show you, if you want.”

That sounds amazing, but he refuses to let himself be distracted.  He shakes his head. “That’s not important right now. Not that I wouldn’t love that, just…”

Ethan laughs softly.  “Take a breath, Benji.  It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.  You just reminded me of why I love you.”

He feels slightly like he just got punched in the gut.  It’s not that he’s never had anyone in love with him before.  It’s just that he’s never felt anything other than vaguely uncomfortable about it.  He’s never truly wanted to hear it before. And he’s never felt like anyone who’s ever said it has really meant it, really knew him enough to mean it.

“God, you are a lethal weapon, Ethan.”

The smile disappears from Ethan’s face.  He tries to take his hand away again, but Benji holds on stubbornly.  “No, listen to me. I trust you. More than I’ve ever…” He takes a breath, then lets it out slowly.  “I’ve never actually been in love with anyone before.”

“I know,” Ethan acknowledges.  At Benji’s raised eyebrow, he adds,” You told me that yourself, more or less.”

More or less, that’s accurate, but that’s not all he told Ethan and he feels the need to explain, even though it’s not really relevant right now.  He forces himself to shrug it off, regroup. “I haven’t, but I know I wouldn’t want to do it half way. I  _ trust _ you, Ethan.  Knowing exactly who you are.”

“Even knowing that I think about our relationship that way?”

He has to fight the stupid grin that threatens to appear at the words “our relationship” because it is completely inappropriate to the situation, but he feels almost giddy hearing them.  He feels, despite this having snuck up on him, that he wants it more than he’s wanted almost anything in his life.

“Whether you do or not, I know that I’m more than an asset to you.  And I know you would never treat me like that. You never asked me for anything, Ethan.”

Ethan breaks eye contact again, looks down at the table.  But it’s not guilt he’s reading from Ethan now. “I wanted… so much Benji.  I wanted…” Ethan takes a breath and lets it out, then looks back up slowly, like it takes an effort.  “Everything. I wanted everything.”

“Ethan…” he starts shakily, then frowns as something hits him.  “Ethan, Vienna was over six months ago.”

Ethan nods.  “I know.” He runs a thumb over the back of Benji’s hand.  “What I wanted… it wasn’t possible then. Even though things had changed for you, they hadn’t changed for me.  I wanted them to. I was trying to make them.”

“You went out and bought a house.”  It comes out like an accusation.

Ethan shrugs. “It seemed like the thing to do.  I figured having a place to call home, to settle in… it would be a good start.  For me, for you, for us. And then maybe I could think about… moving on. Seeing if this was something you wanted to do.  With me.”

Benji’s brain short circuits a little because it’s so backwards and so completely Ethan at the same time, and he has such a weakness for Ethan.  And he can picture it, getting comfortable here, dinners in this kitchen, work over the dining room table, going to bed in Ethan’s bed, with Ethan, every night.  And yet…

“You didn’t ask.  You never said a thing.”

“I was trying.”  Ethan’s grip on his hand tightens, just slightly.  “When I moved in, when I gave you the key… I just-- it just wasn’t…”

“Shh…”  He lays his free hand on top of Ethan’s, because he can tell Ethan’s struggling and Ethan rescues him from that so often.  “Let’s take a minute, shall we?”

Ethan smiles weakly and looks like he wants to protest but also like the thought of trying to finish what he was saying physically pains him.  Benji lifts Ethan’s hand and kisses the back of it, presses it to his cheek. Ethan’s smile becomes easier, more real.

“Hey, you barely ate anything,” Ethan murmurs after a moment.

“No offense to the chef.  I needed a rest. Throat hurt.”  It seems easier to admit that now.  To let Ethan see his vulnerability.

“None taken.  Are you okay now?  I could get you more from the stove, yours has probably gotten cold.”

“Yeah, okay.”  He lets Ethan have his hand back with only a little reluctance and straightens up, passes his bowl over.  He lets Ethan wait on him because he can see that Ethan needs it, needs to be doing something right now. And it feels good to be taken care of, to watch Ethan at the stove making sure that the food is hot, fixing another bowl.  To have Ethan bring it over and stay by his side this time, hover until Benji turns to him.

They kiss, and it’s -- nothing earth shattering, really, except for how it feels entirely like drowning and like he never wants to stop.  When he does, he leans in and presses his face to Ethan’s neck and Ethan moves in closer, wraps an arm around his back. “How do you live with that?” he mumbles into Ethan’s skin.

“You get used to it,” Ethan answers softly.  Distantly, like maybe he means that you get used to the pain but not that it ever stops hurting.  He’s not sure if he even wants it to, is the thing.

He pulls back, finally.  “I don’t think I’m hungry after all.”

Ethan leans in and kisses his neck, then that spot by his ear that Ethan knows drives him crazy.  “Eat. You’ll feel better later.” His breath is warm and it tickles. It’s really no where close to being fair.

“Stay there, would you?”  He feels Ethan stiffen almost imperceptibly against him.  He’s not sure if it’s surprise or something else, but Ethan has a right to be surprised.  It’s been rare that he’s asked for something like this for himself. Either way, Ethan stays, leans into him a little.

He eats slowly, Ethan’s weight against his side, Ethan’s hand rubbing slow circles into his back.  He’s yawning long before he gets even halfway through his refilled bowl, listing heavily against Ethan.

“Done?” Ethan asks, his voice a soft rumble against Benji’s ear.  It has an involuntary shudder running through his body that couldn’t possible escape Ethan’s attention.

“Eager to get to bed, are you?”

Ethan kisses his neck again, then longer so that he’s nearly sucking on it instead.  “Always.”

Benji half heartedly tries to shrug him off, though that’s the last thing he wants to do.  The sleepiness is wearing off, turning into something more dangerous. “Mind out of the gutter, if you will.  That’s still nowhere close to happening.”

“You know, I actually think that’s an upgrade from ‘no way in hell’,” Ethan says with amusement in his voice as he pulls away.  Benji’s side feels cold without him and he has to resist the urge to reach after Ethan, pull him back in. It wouldn’t lead anywhere good.

“It is not, Ethan.”

“Mm hm.”  Ethan moves to take his bowl away from him and Benji comes back to himself.

“Let me clear the dinner.”  He doesn’t hear the protest he’s expecting.  When he looks at Ethan, really looks, he sees that he’s holding himself rigidly, looking a little white in the face.  “Jesus, Ethan. Go lie down, I’ve got this.”

Ethan still hesitates for a long moment before dipping his head in a nod.  “Thanks, Benji.”

“Go.  I won’t be a minute.”

He watches from his stool while Ethan takes a step backwards, then turns and disappears down the hall to the bedrooms.  It’s only then that he gets up, starts cleaning up. He moves across the familiar space, putting the leftovers away in Tupperware and stacking them in the fridge, rinsing dishes and packing the dishwasher, wiping down the countertops.

There’s comfort in the routine, in being in a space that’s not his own but feels more like a home than his apartment ever has.  He takes a moment to take it in as he’s going around and turning out the lights and he wonders how he ever fooled himself about his feelings for Ethan.  He wonders how he’ll ever be able to fool anyone else, if it comes to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have managed to write a bit more, so I thought I'd break off another section to post. This is a bit shorter, but it was the only place that had a breaking point.


	3. Chapter 3

He makes his way down the hall no more than ten minutes after Ethan did, trying to be quiet in case by some miracle Ethan has already fallen asleep, though he knows that Ethan and sleep aren’t well acquainted at the best of times.  At the very least, he expects to see Ethan settled in bed waiting for him, perhaps waiting for another opportunity to try to wind him up, test his resolve. He stops dead when he turns the corner that leads to the master bedroom.

Ethan is standing in the middle of the room, backlit by the bedside lamps and framed by the doorway.  He’s in the middle of changing, pile of pajamas on the bed in front of him, naked except for a pair of black boxer briefs, his hands on the waistband like he’s about to take those off, too.  And while he’s as stunning as he’s always been, all golden skin and hard muscle, his body is a map of bruises, every shade from dark black-blue to mottled purple to sickly greens and yellows.

Ethan looks up and Benji realizes that he’s made a sound, a horrible, wounded sort of sound.  The bruising is worst down Ethan’s left side, still dark and vivid two weeks later, wrapping around to his back, but it spreads across his torso too, down his legs.  Benji walks across the room to Ethan almost involuntarily and stops just out of arm’s reach. He can’t make himself get any closer.

“You told me it didn’t hurt,” he says, his voice thick.

“It didn’t.”  Benji makes another sound at that, somewhere between disbelieving and offended.  Ethan shrugs and corrects. “It didn’t hurt enough.”

“I was _lying on top of you_.”  His voice goes all high pitched and he hates it, but he also hates the thought of even touching Ethan right now, hates that he has been touching him, leaning on him, causing him pain.

Ethan steps closer, brow furrowed with purpose, and reaches out for Benji’s hand.  Benji is so taken aback that he lets him take it, half afraid that even trying to pull away will end up hurting Ethan.  Ethan guides Benji’s hand to his left side, presses it down over a giant purple-green patch just below the place where his ribs must be broken.  He exhales sharply and shudders, but he won’t let Benji’s hand go, only presses it down harder and harder until Benji stops trying to resist. Ethan’s trembling by the time he lets go, struggling to catch his breath, but his eyes are nothing but determined, fixed on Benji’s.

Benji… tries his best to look unimpressed.  Tries to look like he has any idea what to do when Ethan gets like this.  Like he isn’t completely horrified and also a bit turned on at the same time.  “I don’t want you hurting yourself for my sake.”

“And I hate not being close to you.”

Ethan’s voice is hard, confrontational.  Nothing he’d normally associate with a declaration of love, but he’s learning to read it that way, especially now.  Terms, then, have been set down. It’s only left to see which one of them will concede.

“It won’t be forever,” he offers.

“Won’t it?”  Ethan’s voice hardly betrays any emotion, but something about it turns Benji’s stomach, makes it hard to breathe.

“I still have that rain check I’ll need to be cashing in,” he says, but it sounds hollow to his ears.

Ethan sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed, look down at a spot on the rug just in front of his feet.  “Benji. Tell me you didn’t come here to break up with me.”

Suddenly, every part of him feels numb.  He exhales a shuddering breath and takes a staggering step forward, then forces himself to stop, maintain his distance.  “I didn’t think there was anything to break up, really.”

“Two years.”  Ethan looks up at him.  “We have an anniversary coming up, you know?”

He phrases it half like a question and half like a statement and Benji only half believes that he’s serious.  And he does, and he doesn’t, know. He has a vague idea of firsts in his head. The first time he knew he wanted Ethan -- well over two years ago.  The first time he saw Ethan after being strapped to a bomb in London, the first time they talked -- going on two and a quarter. The first time Ethan showed up at his apartment, the first time he knew Ethan wanted him, the first time they--

Well, that hardly counts as an anniversary worth celebrating.  Not when he hadn’t been sure what it meant or if it even meant anything at all.  If it was just something that’d happened once or if Ethan would ever want to do it again.  When he never knew when or where he would even see Ethan next and was half convinced each time that it very well could be the last.

“What is that the anniversary of, then?” he asks.  It sounds grudging to his ears.

“The first time I stayed over at your place.”  Benji opens his mouth to protest, because that was well over two years ago, the time he came home from a day of work to find Ethan sitting in his apartment in the dark with a gun pointed straight him, but Ethan’s already correcting.  “The first time I stayed over because you invited me.”

He can feel himself coming around, like he always does for Ethan.  He walks the rest of the way to the bed and sits down next to him, slowly, carefully.  “Are we celebrating?” They’ve never celebrated before. They’ve never talked about their relationship like this before.

“I’d like to.  If there’s still something to celebrate.”  Ethan shifts, turns to look at him. “Benji… at least tell me why.”

“Ethan, you _know_ why.”

“Because of Ilsa.”  There’s no hesitation, no pretense of not knowing, but Ethan’s voice is completely flat, impossible to read.  A question, despite not being presented as such.

“Because you love her,” he says in answer, surprised by how much the words hurt.  But this, this is why he came here tonight. This is what’s been weighing on his mind since he heard her name back in London, since he saw them together in Kashmir.

“I love _you_ ,” Ethan responds.  Not a denial, but an escalation.  A choice, maybe. And even if he’s using them as a weapon, it’s the first time he’s said those words, plainly, distinctly, with intent.  As a declaration. Benji finally turns to look at him, and he’s not sure what to say. Where that leaves them.

“Why?” he asks stupidly.  It’s not that he has poor self esteem.  It’s not that he thinks he’s not worthy of being loved, past terrible relationships notwithstanding.  But he’s met Ilsa. He’s worked with her. And she is just... everything he sometimes wants to be and never comes close to being.

Ethan reaches out, takes Benji’s hand in his.  Benji’s eyes track the motion, focus on his hand and Ethan’s hand, intertwined.  He doesn’t want to lose this. The last thing he ever wants to do is lose this, but he’s also not sure how he could possibly keep it.

“Because it’s been two years, Benji.  Because you let me into your life when you had no reason to.  Because you’re the reason I can have any of this again, with anyone.”

He shakes his head without even really thinking about it.  “I didn’t do anything.”

“You did everything.  You know you did. And that’s why I’m choosing you.”

And he knows, he does, even though it didn’t seem like anything at the time.  Inviting Ethan into his bed when he showed up in the middle of the night, half delirious from lack of sleep.  Accepting his presence when he showed up in the field, without question, without tipping off anyone else on the team when he knew that Ethan didn’t want them to know he was there.  Late mornings in bed and early evenings curled up in front of the TV and getting on a plane to Vienna when he didn’t know what would be waiting for him at the other end of the flight.

And he wants, so badly, to just let this be it, to accept what Ethan’s offering.  But he remembers other things, too. Remembers the night he first met Ilsa and saw how she didn’t need shimmering gold and blue silk to attract Ethan’s eyes.  Remembers watching Ethan fall before there was even anything between them, then again when she turned up in Paris two years later and having it hurt all the worse.

“Do you know what I wanted to say to you, when I came over?  Before you started doing the whole fifties housewife song and dance?”

“I think I have the general idea,” Ethan answers, even as he’s scanning Benji’s eyes, trying to find some sign of where he’s going with this.  “But why don’t you tell me anyway.”

“I was going to-- When you first woke up, after they pulled you off that cliff, I saw you with Ilsa, and you looked so happy.  So in love. And that was something I was never going to have. So I was going to tell you that it was okay, that losing that part of our relationship was no big deal.”

“And now?”

“Let’s be honest, it was probably always a lie.  But now…” He shrugs. “As much as I want you for myself, that still happened.  That was still real. I don’t think I can make you choose.”

“Benji.  What are you saying, exactly?”

Exactly, he’s not sure.  All he knows is that he doesn’t want to be responsible for making Ethan miserable, and he knows, feels certain, that Ethan would be miserable if he never pursued what he feels for Ilsa.  Even the fact that he’s framing it as a choice says that to him. But he’s not willing to give Ethan up either, not anymore.

“I can’t speak for her, only myself.  But maybe we can find a way to make things work.  For all of us.”

“What, you want a threesome?”  He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Ethan sound more incredulous.  While it’s never really come up that he’s not interested in women, he’s always supposed Ethan knows.  It’s probably in his file, and he has no doubt Ethan’s seen that.

“God, no.  No, I was thinking more like— sister wives and all that.”

“Sister wives.”  Ethan enunciates the words like he has no idea what they mean, but he’s smart, Benji’s sure he’ll figure it out if he really doesn’t know.  The last thing he wants is to have to explain. “You want to… share me?”

“Well… yes.  It’s better in the long run than having you come to resent me for keeping you from her, isn’t it?”

He feels edgy, defensive, and he thinks that there would be pity in Ethan’s eyes if he could read them, but Ethan’s gone blank again.  His whole body is still, as if all of his energy has turned inward to analyze the situation, look at it from every possible angle.

“Do I get a choice in any of this?” Ethan asks finally.

“No, actually.  I don’t think that you do.”  He manages to sound definitive, final, standing his ground in a way that he rarely does with Ethan.  He thinks that if he did it more often, Ethan might not always back down so easily.

“Okay.”  Ethan squeezes his hand gently.  “Benji, you know you don’t have to do this.”

The protest is weak at best, Ethan’s instinct to protect kicking in.  But he’s wrong, and what’s more, he’s sure that Ethan knows he’s wrong.

“I think I do, Ethan.  I do… love you…” It’s surprisingly hard to get the words out, for all that they’ve been acknowledged between them, accepted as truth already

“You don’t have to say it.”

Ethan’s words say one thing, his voice and his eyes another.  He can tell that Ethan wants, needs, to hear it as much as anyone.  Maybe more. It’s been a six months, a year, longer for him. And he can do this, for Ethan.

“No, I have to.”  He shifts closer, so they’re practically touching.  “I love you, Ethan. Desperately. To distraction. All of those ridiculous things that people say that I’ve never fully understood until now.”  Ethan makes a sound and presses even closer, but Benji holds him back with a hand to his shoulder. He needs to finish. “Which means that I can’t be the one to take the possibility of that away from you, even if it’s not with me.  And I was always sharing you anyway, with the IMF, with the job. At least she’ll be able to help me look after you.”

He feels a little breathless when he finishes, like getting that all out took physical effort.  Ethan is still for a moment, and Benji has a terrible moment waiting for his reaction, but then he leans in again like he was just waiting to make sure Benji was really finished this time.  The first kiss is a brief, barely there touch of his lips, but he follows it up with another, then another, and then another, each one deeper than the last.

He’s conceding, he supposes, because he lets Ethan pull him in until they’re as close as they can get sitting side by side on the edge of the mattress, lets Ethan kiss him like he has no intention of stopping.  It’s been weeks, and Ethan is still practically naked, all bare skin under his hands, and he knows Benji so well, knows just how to get to him.

He’s not sure that he would have stopped, not even when Ethan’s hand moves from his hip and starts to make its way up the inside of his thigh, slowly, as though he wouldn’t notice it that way.  But then Ethan gasps sharply, and it might just be arousal, but he has to stop to think about what he’s doing, where his hands are, and then the mood is completely gone for him.

Ethan stops almost immediately after he does, like a switch has been flipped.  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He pulls back, runs his eyes over Benji’s body as if he could see through layers of flannel, as if he’s not the walking injury between the two of them.

“I’m fine.  You?” He takes the opportunity to look Ethan over in turn and realizes where his hand has actually been.  He moves it away discreetly.

“A little indisposed,” Ethan responds dryly, and Benji can’t help but look down again.  He swallows any jokes he might want to make, because he’s absolutely they would do nothing to help the situation.  “Please,” Ethan murmurs, going in for another kiss. Benji stops him with a hand to his sternum.

“Don’t try to talk me into this, Ethan.  Please don’t do that.” He feels helpless, because he suspects that if Ethan were to really try, he would succeed, and he doesn’t want to go there.  He doesn’t even think Ethan wants to go there, not really, but Ethan has a history of acting against his own interests where sex is concerned.

Ethan doesn’t protest, though, just sighs and caves against Benji.  Benji gathers him in, allows at least that much, and holds him loosely.  “Okay? Need anything? A cold shower, perhaps?”

“Fine.  ‘m just happy everything still works,” Ethan says, voice muffled against Benji’s shoulder.

“Was that…”  He takes a breath, tries to remain calm.  “Was that even actually a concern?”

Ethan laughs, a full bodied laugh that has him shaking against Benji, then groaning and coughing weakly.  “Oh, God, please don’t. I’m fine, Benji. The equipment is fine.”

“Well, that’s good to know, at any rate.  For some time in the distant, distant future when all your injuries are healed and I am no longer mad at you for that stunt.  What exactly were you trying to do?”

“Nothing.”  Benji makes a skeptical noise.  Ethan pulls back slowly, looks Benji in the eye.  “Really. I wasn’t thinking about about it.”

“Right, because I’m just so extraordinarily tempting right now.”  He makes an all encompassing gesture at himself, flannel pajamas, worn flannel robe, bedroom slippers and all.  “What could you possibly have been thinking about instead?”

“You are tempting, Benji, especially right now.”  Benji gives Ethan his least impressed look, but Ethan refuses to be cowed.  “I think you underestimate what a declaration of love can do to a man.”

“Oh, you.”  He can feel himself blushing, feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck.  “You’ll probably have to get used to it.”

Ethan smiles softly.  “I think I can try to do that.”  He leans in, kisses Benji’s temple.  “Are we good? Are we…”

“We’re good, Ethan.”  There’s still a lot they have to talk about, he knows that, but it’s late and they’re both tired and it can wait.  It can wait, because now he believes that they’ll have a future to work out all those details and he’s forgiven Ethan already even though he’s not about to say it now.  “So… boyfriends, then?”

“I think you may have agreed to be my wife.”

“What?  Haven’t got the foggiest what you’re talking about.  You may need to get your hearing checked.” Ethan laughs again, more carefully this time, but it’s clear that it still causes him pain.  “Ethan, you should be in lying down. What were you doing in here all by yourself all that time that you’re not even changed?”

Ethan looks vaguely embarrassed and for a moment Benji thinks he might not answer.  “I had to sit down for a while,” he admits finally.

He has a wild urge to laugh even though it’s not at all funny, because he was starting to imagine Ethan saying something way worse than that.  “Okay, that’s it, time for bed.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Ethan says.  “You’ve been one step away from falling asleep on me all evening.”

“Oh, we’re doing this for me, are we?”

Ethan gives him a indulgent half smile.  “And I’m tired. I could really use the rest.”

And the the thing is, he never actually expected Ethan to admit to it, not out loud.  The level of trust that it shows-- he feels that sinking, drowning feeling again and he rubs his chest as if it’s a physical ache that can be massaged away.  Ethan catches his eye and quirks an eyebrow at him and he feels himself blushing again. He can understand Ethan forgetting himself, forgetting why he should be careful.

He breaks eye contact and reaches behind Ethan to grab the pajamas he left lying on the sheets.  They’re nondescript, gray, nothing he can specifically remember having seen before. “You should change.  Actually, why did you even need to get changed? This is practically the same thing you already had on.”

Ethan stands and Benji gets distracted, because there’s always something arresting, something graceful about the way that Ethan moves, especially stripped bare like this, the flex of muscle visible under skin.

“Breathing room,” Ethan answers, bemused, and it takes him a moment to remember what the question was.  “I can…” He tilts his head in the direction of the en suite.

“No need for that.”  He focuses, tracks the pattern of bruising down Ethan’s torso to where it disappears beneath the waistband of his shorts.  “Anything under those I should know about?”.

“Nothing but the usual,” Ethan responds, the amusement in his voice only deepening.

“Ah, yes.  The usual. I think I’m familiar with that.  Bumps, bruises, though?”

Ethan toys with the waistband of his briefs, dragging one side down to expose inches of skin over razor sharp hip bone before stopping and looking up.  “You tell me. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind inspecting the goods.” He’s being deliberately provocative, but there’s no doubt in Benji’s mind that he’s not even half serious about it.

He snorts and tosses the pajamas at Ethan, who catches them easily.  “Enough of that, or it’s off to the bathroom with you.”

Ethan just blinks at him innocently.  “I promise you’ll get through this with your modesty intact.”  He lobs the pajamas back. “Hold these?”

“Yeah, sure,” he agrees absently, clutching the cotton as he watches Ethan strip.  He moves slowly, deliberately. He’s not playing around anymore, just concentrating on getting changed, but there’s something even more alluring about it.. He turns to throw the briefs in the hamper and Benji takes in the uninterrupted lines of his profile, abs to hip to thigh.

“Pants?”  Ethan asks.

“Hm?”  It only belatedly sinks in what Ethan wants from him.  “Right, of course.” But he doesn’t move, because Ethan is facing him now, and well.  If it were his intention to inspect the goods, this would certainly be the perfect opportunity.

“Unless you want me to go to bed like this.”  He can hear the grin in Ethan’s voice.

“That would serve you right,” he throws back absently as he picks out the pajama pants.  “It’s going to be a cold night.” He holds them out and Ethan steps in to take them. His leg brushes against Benji’s and he’s close enough that Benji can feel the heat coming off the body, close enough that he would barely even have to move to get his mouth on him.

“You’d keep me warm,” Ethan says softly.  Confidently. Benji tilts his head back to look Ethan in the eye, and what he sees has him swallowing a lump in his throat.

“What about my modesty, then?” he asks, trying to keep things light, teasing.

Ethan shakes his head.  “Don’t you think I know you better than that?  You have no modesty.”

“Lies.”  He leans in and kisses Ethan’s hip, gives his ass a gentle smack.  “Cover yourself before I have a fainting spell.”

Ethan backs off, laughing.  “Can’t have that. There’s no way I’d be able to get you into bed in my condition.”

“Then perhaps I’ll just avert my eyes.”

He does nothing of the sort, though.  He can’t take his eyes off Ethan as he finishes getting himself dressed.  Ethan keeps looking too, smiling when he sees Benji looking back. For something so routine, so normal, this feels surprisingly new.  Intimate. He’s not sure that he’ll ever be able to get enough of it.

He tries to adjust to the idea that this is real, permanent, as they get into bed together, as Ethan lets him fluff his pillows, get him more water and another dose of Advil. Ethan gives him his most forbearing look as Benji tucks the blankets around him, brushes his hair back and kisses his forehead -- because he’s not sick, just injured, but if that’s what makes you happy Benji.  It does make him happy, though, so he ignores Ethan’s grousing, as he suspects he’s supposed to.

He takes his time turning down the covers, going to the bathroom and washing his face, tucking his slippers under the bedside table so that he won’t trip on them, taking off his robe and draping it over the chair in the corner.  Ethan watches him the entire time, the picture of patience. Finally, he turns off the lamp of his side of the bed and slides under the covers, settles a comfortable distance from Ethan.

Ethan turns his head to look down at Benji from his pile of pillows.  “Can I convince you to get closer?”

“I suppose.”  He sighs as he moves in, like it’s a great effort, an imposition.  He settles back down much closer, but still not quite touching. He meets Ethan’s gaze.  “This is probably the best you can hope for.”

“I guess that’s fair.”  Ethan sounds more resigned than convinced.

He’s close enough that Ethan can reach over, rest his hand on Benji’s shoulder like earlier.  Except it’s not like earlier, because so much is different than it was earlier. He’s no longer dreading the end of this thing they’ve had between them but looking forward to the future.  A future that has its own pitfalls, maybe, but better all the same because they’ll be together. Actually together.

“I can hear you thinking, Benji,” Ethan says, squeezing his shoulder gently.

 _You can not_ , he wants to say, but if pressed, could he really swear to it that Ethan can’t?  “What am I thinking, then, mind reader?”

“I said I could hear you thinking, not that I know what you’re thinking.”  Ethan starts tracing patterns on Benji’s shoulder with his fingers. It’s nice.  “You’re worrying.”

“I’m stressing.  It’s different.”

“It’s noisy, babe.  Some of us are trying to sleep over here.”

“Some of us?  Surely not you, Ethan I’ll-Sleep-When-I’m-Dead Hunt.”

Ethan laughs softly.  “What are you stressing about?  Things are good, aren’t they?”

His voice is even, casual.  But there’s something in it that Benji would swear is insecurity.  He lifts his head off the pillow, looks up at Ethan. Ethan takes a second before turning his head and meeting Benji’s eyes.  He smiles, but it seems forced.

“Things _are_ good, Ethan.  Really good. But you know how I am.”

Ethan smiles for real then, and it’s amazing how different it is.  “Yeah, I know.” Ethan applies a gentle pressure to his shoulder and he settles back down, burrows into his pillow.  “I’d offer my normal method of helping you destress, but somehow I don’t think you’d go for it.”

Benji snorts.  “Distant future, Ethan. Far off on the horizon.”

“You know, I might be out of the equation, but there’s nothing preventing you from going for it.”  Ethan pauses. “I could watch.”

Benji muffles a groan with his pillow.  “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Tempting as that may be, I’d probably only get a couple jerks in before passing out, cock in hand.”

“Hot.”  Ethan laughs again, then is silent for a while.  He resumes rubbing Benji’s shoulder. “You’re sure we’re good.  You’re not… having second thoughts?”

“Not a one.”  He yawns, then shifts closer to Ethan, reaches out and tangles his fingers in the hem of his shirt.  If he can’t hold him, this will have to do. “Except about going to work tomorrow.”

“You can always call in.  You know that’s not your job anyway.”

“You know what?  I think I will. We can…”  He hesitates, despite everything unsure if there’s a we in this scenario. Unsure if he can just include Ethan in his plans.

“We can sleep in,” Ethan supplies.

“You, sleep in?  I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Okay,” Ethan agrees easily.  “You sleep in and I’ll go out and get breakfast.”

“Pancakes, please.  Lots of treacle. You know the place I like, the one by the--”

“The one by the weird statue that creeps you out.  Yeah, I know. I can stop by the liquor store and pick up some champagne, too.”  There’s something tentative in Ethan’s voice. “For mimosas,” he adds though Benji’s sure that’s not what he was going for originally.

“Best not forget the juice, then.”  Benji yawns again. “And if we are celebrating our anniversary, don’t just buy the champagne at the Whole Foods, please.”

Ethan lets out a surprised sort of sound that he’s too tired to try to analyze.  “I wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t spring that on you, Benji. When we celebrate, you’ll know about it.  This is just a nice, quiet day together.”

“Oh, it’s the whole day?  What’s next, then?”

“I have a physical therapy session.”  Ethan sounds almost apologetic. “You could come with me, but it’s going to be long and probably boring.”

“And then what would you tell me about when you’re trying to bore me to sleep?”  He sighs. “I guess that’ll give me a chance to get some work done. Write some briefs.  Shoot off a few memos.” He doesn’t really want to, but feels obligated because the IMF is still rebuilding and they need all the help they can get.

“Or you could plan out what you’re making me for dinner.”

It’s an obvious out, but Benji takes it.  Ethan is the most responsible of them all and he wouldn’t suggest it if he didn’t think it was okay.  He doesn’t even mind that Ethan has taken control of this little fantasy. “I’m staying for dinner now, too?”

“Mm hm.  And staying the night.”

“I didn’t pack for two nights.”  It’s a token protest, and not even that, really.  It’s mostly to hear what Ethan will say.

Ethan, for his part, doesn’t even miss a beat.  “I guess it’s a good thing you never remember to take your clothes with you when you leave, then.”

“That is entirely inaccurate, Ethan,” he protests, even though he suspects that if Ethan’s saying it, then it must be true.  They way they live, possessions, clothes especially, are ephemeral. He never wears anything that he’s not prepared to lose somewhere along the way and he suspects that Ethan is the same.

“I have at least three of your suits in my closet, all freshly pressed by the way.  I’m surprised you didn’t notice them when you rifled through my closet.” His tone says that he’s not really surprised at all.

“Surprisingly, I had my mind on other things.  Weapons grade plutonium, perhaps.”

“You know, you could just move in.”

As soon as the words are out there, everything just… stops.  Ethan’s body is so still next to his, he might as well have been frozen in time.  If not for Ethan’s reaction, Benji doesn’t think he would be sure he even heard correctly, despite the fact that that’s clearly where this has been going, clearly what Ethan has had in mind this whole time.

And it’s tempting.  It really is. All he’d have to do is say yes, and this could be his life.  This house, this man. All of it. But they’ve only just acknowledged they have a relationship, that they love each other, and if he’s never been in love before then he’s definitely never lived with someone.  And then there’s Ilsa… he can’t. Not even if it’ll hurt Ethan. But it feels like Ethan is still holding his breath. He’s not sure that Ethan even wants him to say yes.

“I think… not yet, if that’s alright.  Not until things are more settled.” He hears Ethan exhale softly.  “I can certainly spend more time here.”

“Yeah.  Okay. That works.”

He can feel Ethan relax by degrees.  After a few minutes, Ethan moves his hand from Benji’s shoulder and Benji opens his eyes to see him reaching over to turn out the lamp on his side of the bed.  Darkness fills the room and he can just barely see Ethan’s silhouette, the line of his back, by the light of the streetlights filtering in through the curtains.  He remembers arguing with Ethan about those curtains at the store, about whether blackout curtains would be better, but he likes this, the gentle reminder that they’re not alone in the world.  

Ethan settles back down with a sigh of relief and folds his hands over his chest.  “So you’ll stay? Tomorrow night?”

“I’ll stay.”  He would kiss Ethan good night, but his whole body feels heavy.  He pats him on the arm instead and his hand stays where it lands on Ethan’s bicep.  He opens his mouth to say something else, he’s not sure what, and only ends up with a mouthful of his pillow.

He hears Ethan’s voice, low and soft, but not the words.  The house settles around them, dark and quiet. He sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been struggling with this for weeks, so I have decided to post the beginning, or rather, it was suggested to me that I post it. So I can't chicken out, basically. I anticipate this being 2 or 3 parts total.


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